A Revolution Of Sorts (Old Ver)
by Wangan
Summary: I know I don't belong here. That is an undeniable fact. Two lives were stolen when I came to this place, mine being one of them. Still, I'm here for a reason. God only knows what but until I can find my way back, I will do whatever I can to find it.


I let the lukewarm water run over me, the sound of the shower a white noise the focuses my thoughts. Well, turns them away from the one subject I can't stand to think about. No doubt my eyes are red from all the crying I've been doing. My nose was probably pouring snot before the water cleaned it off. With one last sniff, I stand a little straighter in the shower and finish up.

I comb my hands through my hair to certify that it's completely free of soap before stepping out of the shower. I pick the towel off the small stand by the sink, dry off, and pause before I look up. The steam blocks my view of the mirror like a dozen breaths frozen in chilly air, even if I wasn't already reluctant in raising my head but soon, all too soon, it begins to clear as the temperature evens out. My skin breaks into goosebumps and it's not from the dampness that hasn't left.

With a few more brushes of the towel, I pull on my underwear and undershirt, drop the towel into the basket to the left of the sink, and look at the mirror.

It sensation hits me almost instantly. A freezing jolt right to the heart, a mental firecracker of panic exploding, but then it fades once remembrance that 'this is me' flows into the spaces that were so quickly evacuated.

What 'me' now entails is the face and form of a twelve year old girl. Short black hair that comes down to the jaw when not kept up, skin only lightly tanned by the sun, and face that is all sharp edges. Features that are distinctly a European-Asian blend It lacks the full roundness that comes with the age, there is indeed baby fat in these cheeks but it seems to be leaving early.

KNOCKKNOCK. "C'mon Sugi. Hurry up in there." One of the younger orphans whines through the door. My crisis is over, I should not keep the others waiting for breakfast. Not for pining for what I was. Not when the horror of my situation finally had time to sink in.

What I was, was a thirty year old male postal worker and I still don't know how the hell I got here.

I'd brought the rest of my clothes in with me and thus, I dress. I pull on the grey over shirt and blue pants because I can't find any jeans in this place, and swipe a comb front to back to give my hair a slicked back style. My black jacket is by my bed. In short, it's a distinctly 50s greaser style.

Except Jacket isn't leather. That kind of jacket is expensive here. And I don't own anything that really keeps my hair down beyond a comb.

That aside, the girl known as Sugi Makashi can pull this look off well. I flip my collar up and, after pulling on a pair of socks leave the shared bathroom. Judging from the line and the few nasty looks I get upon my exit, I certainly have taken too long. The boy in front who'd called in, Hatano, is hopping from foot to foot like he's busting for a leak. Only I know that's not the reason he's excited. Today's the second Tuesday of the month. Otherwise known to the rest of Pearl Orphanage as the day I cook breakfast.

With the help of Matron Imai, of course.

It's become a sort of tradition ever since I got sick of all the rice paired with everything and asked if I could make something for myself. Seeing everyone staring at my plate of French Toast with honey with both hilarious and then annoying when everyone was asking for a bite. Poor Imai had to calm down a near riot as questions of where was theirs turned into chants of 'Gimme.' Since she didn't know how to make it, she could only barely calm the others down by promising something extra special for dinner.

After that she'd told me no more making special breakfasts for myself unless I was making some for everyone. Also known as the 'Do you have gum for the class?' clause.

She didn't expect me to take her up on that. Nor did she expect me to one up her by doing lunch and dinner on other days of the month.

Then again, having all the recipes of Earth in your head does make one spoiled for choice.

"Whatcha makin'? Whatcha makin?" Hatano asks as he continues to bounce while trailing behind me as I make for the kitchen.

I smile and give him a wink. "Not telling."

"Pleeeeeease tell me." Yes, he does manage to stretch out the 'e' in a single tone.

I shake my head and before he gets the chance, I take off down the hall. Even if I wasn't in training, he wouldn't have kept up on his little legs.

I go through the large dining room and into the kitchen where I see Matron Imai already halfway done slicing the potatoes. She turns towards me and smiles. "Ah, Sugi, you're just in time." She pauses in her cutting to point at the ingredients with her knife. "I've got the things you requested and the stove is already heating up." Clearly in her fifties, her wrinkles are minimal, hair greying, and has the short stocky plump frame of the grandmother stereotype. And personality wise, she fits it to a T, calling everyone dearie and stuff. Pinching cheeks and a voice that's like cream but firms up like concrete when she's upset. It's actually impressive. One woman taking care of 15 kids is a hard enough challenge if you're half her age. However, what she exceeds in caring, she lacks in food preparation. Her four basic food groups is Eggs, rice, vegetables, some meats, and rice. By the way, did I mention rice?

Oh and how about a side of rice with your rice? Seasoned with some rice with a garnish of rice.

Oh god the rice. I shake my head and put off my food based PTSD and check the stuff on the counter.

Eggs.

Flour.

Milk.

Vanilla extract.

Link sausage.

Baking soda.

Butter.

And with those potatoes, hash browns.

A good ol' fashioned southern breakfast Paula Deen would be proud of. "Okay, once you're done with the potatoes, start scrambling the eggs, and I'll get started on the bis- quick bread." I wince only just able catch myself. As far as I've seen biscuits don't exist here, in fact a lot of things don't exist here and certain terms that I wouldn't even think twice about saying has to be double checked so I don't get looks from other people. Matron Imai doesn't pause or question what I say, she's learned by now that I know what I'm doing. She pulls the eggs closer to her so she can get right to them once she's done cutting. It feels good to have a somewhat adult level control.

I go over to the oven and turn it on to 412 and open it to check the flame is lit. Gas stoves need to be checked like that to make sure you don't blow yourself up.

Grabbing a large bowl, I measure out flour from the huge bag. Adding baking soda, I use a whisk to mix it together for even distribution. Normally, I would use a sifter but I'm cooking for more than myself, 16 times more as a matter of fact. It would take far too long that way. Dumping in a huge block of butter, I put on latex gloves and begin 'cutting' it in together with my hands, again because it would take too long to use a fork. Essentially, crushing the mix together with my hands and switching when the left or right got too sore to continue, it took nearly 10 minutes until the texture was right. I add in the milk and as I mix the second reason for wearing gloves comes into play. The first is to keep my fingers from going numb as I work the butter in, the second is to save myself the trouble from sticky fingers from the dough.

By the time it's done, I can tell the oven is ready since the heat has filled up most of the room. I take the baking trays, a set of five which are well worn from age, from the cupboard above the sink, set the down, roll the dough out into small balls, and line them out on the trays. Parceling them out carefully, I have enough for nearly 50. Quite enough for everyone, then some for tomorrow. You always got to think about tomorrow.

The oven is large enough for me to slide four of the five trays on the racks lengthwise and I put the fifth in the fridge to keep the butter inside them from melting from the heat taking over. By then Matron Imai has moved on from the potatoes to the eggs, mixing what has to be two dozen in a large bowl that looks both heavy and yet light with the way she has it pinned in the crook of her arm. That's a chokehold grip, right there.

Taking the shredded potatoes and using the knife, sliding them off the counter to another bowl, I go over to the stove. A tickle runs down the bridge of my nose and I brush at it. Sweats are starting but I can stand the heat. Taking a few minutes to dice the sausage and mixing it thoroughly with the hash browns, I dump it all in the wok-like pan that is certainly hot enough. This being an orphanage run by one person, two when one of Imai's friends find the the time to help, this place didn't have a great many options for cooking utensils.

Adapting was necessary, in everything here.

"Oh..."A gasp sntaches my attention and I turn just in time to see the bowl in Matron Imai's arms slip. Immediately, things around me begins to change, to slow as if my vision, my hearing, and even my own motions seem to turn into something out of a Matrix movie. The sizzling of frying dulls to the point that I can start counting the individual pops. The bowl's descent to the floor becomes an almost casual drift, the yellow liquid of the egg mix rolling towards the edge as it tips. Imai's face slowly changing expression.

Without thinking, I jump from my spot at the stove. My motions are so much faster when things get like this and I've long since stopped questioning what this chakra is capable of. Like movie frames being played at two different speeds, my hands close around the bowl, grip it tight, and adjust for the weight that's coming.

Then like a rubberband stretched to it's limit, everything snaps back. The sizzling roars, the bowl's weight comes down on my arms like a sack of bricks, and I have to strain not to pull something from the awkward position they are in.

"...dear!" Her hands shoot out, snatching for what is now empty air. She would've missed as her hands clasp at least half a foot away from where it would've been.

Matron Imai looks shocked for just long enough before grabbing the bowl before its considerable heft convinced gravity to betray me. "Are you okay?" She asks with a grateful smile, now putting the eggs on the counter. "You didn't hurt yourself did you?"

"No, thanks for your concern, Miss Imai." I nod and go back to the wok before the food has a chance to burn.

I give the food inside a few tosses and I hear Matron Imai chuckle. "I guess it's good you're training as a ninja. Graduation is in two days, right?"

I can't help but cringe at that question. Luckily, the stove faces the wall away from where she's standing. "Yep." And that's the problem. I'm graduating in two days and I'm not even close to the fraction of one percent of my plans. Two days until I could actually enact them.

Two more days out of 238. Two more days out of eight months.

The orphanage is built so that Faux Mt. Rushmore is perched right in the middle of horizon and every damn face on it seems glaring right at me as if the very stone knows I don't belong in this place. I'm inclined to agree with them.

Eight months I've been here. Eight long horrifying months. My situation could be considered Lovecraftian or Poe-esque or H.G. Wells worthy. A good story if I wasn't currently living it. It would make a good book. A thirty-year old male postal worker goes to sleep one night and wakes up in a twelve-year old orphan's body in a world of superpowers that was not his own. Able to read, write, and speak in this world's language. Understand, from a child's perspective, what this world is like. From an adult's perspective, it's scary.

I wipe that idea away from my mind. Not that it isn't scary, not that I don't plan to do something about it. It's just if I dwell on it I just might lose my mind, if I haven't already lost it. I do however need to take a deep breath to steel myself in order to trust my voice won't break. "I'm looking forward to it. Could you pass me the eggs?"

XXX

Everyone loved breakfast, of course. Hatano, in particular inhaled it so fast I'm not sure if he even tasted what he was eating. However, once the meal was over and the dishes had been cleaned it was time to go to school. I flex my legs in mid-run and the feeling of the orphanage's wooden slats under my feet disappear, my jacket flapping behind me, and my suitcase, because yes I asked Matron Imai for a suitcase and she got one from Konoha's version of goodwill, in my right hand.

For a full three seconds, I rise before gravity is reminded of my presence and I drop towards the house next door. As I land, I let my momentum carry me forward and keep up my speed with another short spurt towards the next house.

Konoha is not a private place nor is it a small place. The streets are as narrow as the buildings are compact. Add on top of it being midday and I have to really take care not to step on any toes. An improbably populated town that wouldn't look out of place in a fantasy novel or some such show. It's a 'central' city in the Land Of Fire. All business, goods, and equipment flow through this place and we have the population to prove it. The road is packed with stalls privind food to workers taking their breakfast. Stalls built into the sides of buildings that doubled as the shipowner's houses with clotheslines swaying in the air. The voices of products being pushed, fading in and out as I pass by.

"...ome and ge..."

"Fresh today! Cau..."

"...ot n' ready! Only five..."

From there it continues, as I keep running across rooftops and clearing jumps that not even the most ballsiest parkour maniac would even think of pulling off. It's exhilarating, even after all this time. If every leap didn't need my full attention, I could easily close my eyes and imagine I was flying.

That I was goddamn Superman. Yet this feeling, the sensation of air blowing past, the almost literal release from earth, this experience that could only be exceeded by skydiving, is mundane here. Every ninja can do it. Hell, everyone in my class can do it. And they don't understand how amazing it is.

And that's the rub right there. Here the things I've learned to do are average.

 _I'm average._

Actually, now that I think about it, while I'm average in ability here, back home I'd be Captain Goddamn America.

One of the first things I'd learned that make ninja superhuman is chakra. The physical benefits themselves speak for themselves as I pound tile to the next jump. Not the mention when I'm training during what free time I have at the orphanage. I've pulled off the kind of acrobatics that would make Jackie Chan in his prime look like Baby's first cartwheel. And of course, leaving out the 'slow-mo' that I go through sometimes. Damn what I wouldn't had given to be able to do this back home. Well, I wouldn't have given up _home_ but I definitely would have loved to even get a fraction of the athleticism and energy I have now.

All this together, I know one thing for certain.

Chakra is this world's damn cheat code.

On physicality alone this energy puts a child above this world's average adult. It's a fact that becomes frighteningly clear during spars in the past when I've taken and tanked through blows that would've had thrity year old me out like a candle in a hurricane. Hell, 'Earth' me against, the worst of our class, Naruto Uzumaki wouldn't have a chance without a shotgun and a ten second head start to aim and fire.

Here he may be the class clown. On Earth? The President would be calling him 'Sir' with a fucking smile.

I can't think of any nation that wouldn't sacrifice half of their own damn population for this power.

And if Konoha appeared somewhere on Earth? 300,000 big ones says the moment the village's full abilites are known, it get's nuked.

I shake my head, thoughts of radioactive destruction raining down on my head as I leap to another building.

However, with good news comes bad news or rather, in my particular case, bad fucking news. Case in point: Hey you're now a superhuman at a level that would make Hitler's Aryan race shit their pants in fear. Oh by the way, it's quite possible you will never see anyone you love or care about for the rest of your life.

You're young again and job free, but you're in the body of a girl and an orphan.

You've got all of Earth's history, knowledge, science, art, music, inventions, etc in your head. Oh, before I forget you're going to be a child soldier in a military dictatorship.

I flinch just as I'm about to land and one of my boots slip off the edge of a tiled roof. My stomach lurches as gravity tightens its merciless grip and begins slowly yanking me backward. Trained reflexes and a whole lot of instinct has me quickly catch myself, snatching the plank of a wooden fence and with a threatening creak, holds as I pull myself up. I breathe a sigh of relief but it dies halfway in up my throat and dies as my eyes fall on the Hokage mountain.

This is what offends my American sensibilities so much. It's that fact I'm living in a Military Dictatorship...that works. Very few ways I could imagine a system like this excepting National Emergency, and yet here, it not only exists but thrives.

It wouldn't have lasted if it were personality regimes, not for three extra generations if it were anything like the many examples.

Though it makes sense in a sad way. Traditional democracy would be broken over the knee of Chakra. Just thinking about the US senators back home even having 1/100th of a percent of the powers I've seen here...

Again, I rub away the goosebumps and continue my way to class. I would've been able to accept the Dictatorship part. Hell, it's more like a mix of popularity and ninja skill to get into office than iornfisted 'crushing of desention' taking of power. The problem is the child soldier part. I as an orphan don't have any other options. Even if Sugi had a choice, I don't. To put my plans into motion, I need money and ninja make plenty. It's a simple matter of working within the system to change it later. If I were to challenge the system with nothing I would no doubt be 'taken care of.'

This place is not horrible.

'Not horrible' is not enough. It can be better.

As I clear the wall of the Ninja Academy and land at the front doors, I realize I must be early because there aren't any students gathering around or chatting outside. Yet I'm hesitant to enter. There is an uncanny horror to this place, Konoha and this world as well but the Ninja Academy in particular. It's a school teaching children how to kill, yes, and it's a school teaching children. Regular education. Math, science, and, at least for me and the other girls in my class, flower arrangement and cooking.

If anyone had asked me to picture what a being made a child soldier was like, I would say kidnappings, threats to kill your family if you didn't obey, beatings and a lot of shouting, or at it's worst blatant brainwashing.

The last example being something along the lines of the children with the plastic golden keys or the infamous Hitler's Youth.

But none of that was taking place here.

And that was what was so off about it.

It's a feeling that I brush off as I enter the building because, again, I don't have a choice.

When I get to the classroom, I take advantage of the silence and isolation and open my suitcase. Inside is this world's future or my world's past which ever way you look at it, organized in 6 sections on both the bottom and lid of the suitcase.

Blueprints. Music. Art. On top.

Chemical formulas. Entertainment. History. On the bottom.

I have more than just these six categories but this helps me stay organized for now. When I have my own place, one of the first purchases will be a file cabinet.

Most people if they were in my position would have a huge lock on the case or even secret box somewhere. However, when you hide things or lock them away you make it clear that you don't want someone to see what you have. Which is a very bad thing to let on with ninja's propensity for espionage. Best have it with you and be as casual when you bring it out. You don't treat something special and the people around you won't think it is.

I grab the blueprint at the very front, the one I'd finished last night. The Colt Single Action Army. I'm not a gun person and there is some irony that I need to have a gun made for my own protection. Have two made actually. I've realized over time that no ninja I've seen is knife proof, much less bullet proof.

And of course to make sure the design stays with me and ONLY me. The thought of this place having guns...Holy hell. I can't allow one enterprising worker decide that he'll make a little extra money.

I have a strategy for that. There are multiple machinists and metal workers here in Konoha, another thing that makes this place strange is the free market in a military dictatorship, that have major competition with each other. While I know I could at some point make the ammunition myself, the weapons would be beyond my ability to make and be prepared before any major missions.

Taking out a few blank sheets of paper, I make extremely detailed sketches of the individual mechanisms.

Splitting the parts among the several who can make them, never giving over the full picture is a safe way to keep the design under my control. I kinda got the idea from H. and how he built his infamous hotel, hiring and firing contractors so that no one had a full idea of the place and, if history is any example, I doubt the contractors were comparing notes with each other.

By the time I'm done with drawing out at least 15 separate blueprints, students start filtering in. Taking my time and without much rush, I tap the entire stack together and set it in my suitcase.

No one even gives me a second look.

XXX

"You look weird." I blink. It takes me a few seconds to process what's been said and another few to realize it was me the voice was addressing. Class hasn't even started yet and I had just been staring out the window to pass the time waiting for Master Iruka to start class.

The classroom is now a buzz of activity. Children talking and doing other things becoming an ambience to the inevitable wait. At least that's what I had been doing. Now I'm turning to face the speaker.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, someone who would look like Hitler's golden boy if we were back on Earth and a hundred years in the past. While I didn't know Naruto Uzumaki personally, I knew him by reputation. 25 pounds of energy and troublemaking in a five pound sack looks back at me, goggles strapped to his forehead with arms crossed. His expression isn't judgemental or arrogant or anything beyond pure curiosity. Puppy-like in its openness. I'd accuse him of practicing that look in a mirror if I didn't know he meant it a certain way.

Basically, he is the type of person who has no filter between the brain and the mouth.

Hell, even the way he said it was more like a statement of fact that a tone of mockery. Just a stranger pointing something out to another with not even a bit of ill intent. I know we've never talked before. The only reason I know his name is because pretty much every teacher in this school has shouted it at the top of their lungs while most of us in class watch a retreating spot of orange cackling out of sight.

How he manages to get away with the shit he pulls is a mystery I don't care to solve. Mostly because that would mean possibly getting caught in the crossfire of whatever he's got planned that day during said investigations.

Then again, I must be a mystery to him as well if he's breaking the ice with comments about my appearance, I guess my way of dressing has beaten against the limits of his curiosity far too long.

"I guess." I say with a shrug, pulling a thin black comb out the inner pocket of my jacket and give my hair a few swipes.

I don't guess. I know I look strange. Among my fellow classmates who wouldn't look out of place if they said they'd gone to a Thrift store that had been firebombed and threw on whatever fit- I mean, what the hell are those things on your arms Uchiha? And your parents like you leave the house like that Ino?- or could be scavenged, even on those hazardous and wavering rails that passes for modern fashion I fly off. Looking like I just stepped out of the 50s among all this Pan Euro-Asian themed clothing no doubt gets attention. I'm surprised I haven't been called out before now.

Good on Uzumaki to say something. That respect didn't mean that I wasn't going to let it slide. "You're one to talk, lookin' like a fruit stand."

He frowns, his cheeks puffing out in indignation. "Hey!" He tugs at his jacket, displaying it to me as if better light might make it more impressive. "This was a gift."

Okay, now he's just opened the door for me. "Just the one?" I scrunch up my nose, feigning disgust. "You wear that every day, do you wash it?"

Almost immediately, his face goes red and he gasps, waving a hand. "No! " It takes him a full five seconds before his eyes widen in realization. " Wait! Y-yes to the second question. I got more."

Any other objection he tries to make in defense of his hygiene is lost as I laugh. I stand and give him a pat on the back. "I'm just messing with you, Uzumaki."

The expression of embarrassment fades and he gives me a look that could only be described as shock.

"What?"

"Wait." He steps back from me, more like slides but the effect is that same as his arm shoots up and he aims a finger right between my eyes and shouts loud enough for the whole class to hear. "You're a girl?!"

I stare open mouthed at him and now the whole class is silent because of course Naruto couldn't be bothered to use an inside voice for this apparently dramatic discovery.

"Uh, yeah." I say once I clean up the six lane pile up of the vocal chords I'm suddenly having. I stab a thumb in my chest. "I'm Sugi Makashi? Been in your class since the beginning of the year now?" Only I've had 8 months of direct control of it, but still.

He grunts, eyebrows screwing together as he tries to remember. His mind is working so hard I can hear the gears grinding and when he figures it out I can practically see the light bulb pop on above his head. "You're _that_ Sugi?!" Again, no volume control.

Okay, now this is just ridiculous. I throw my hands up in frustration and now my voice is rising to match his. "Who'd you think I was?"

"Someone else, I guess." he mumbles vaguely, as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks in every other direction than at me. Not quite shy, embarrassed. It's actually kinda adorable, an almost exact clone of how my son wou- My eyes burn slightly and I slam on that thought so hard. I need to stop it. Because if I think, I start to cry and when I start to cry I can't stop for awhile. Finally, Naruto speaks up, a little more hesitantly."A new guy...girl. You don't laugh much." So my laugh gave away my gender? Hmm.

"Uh-huh. With the same name?" I'm only slightly taller than him but, by God, I use every inch available to look down at him. "Really?"

Naruto finches and looks uncertain if he should answer but is saved by the entrance of Master Iruka, a man who has the look of a teacher, tanned brown skin, friendly face, and a voice that can both ease and yet harden when strict. Oh, and a giant scar across the face which is the only hint that he used to be more than that. "Alright, class. Take your seats." The blonde gives him a sour look before glancing at me one more time then moves to his usual spot near the front since Master Iruka won't let him sit anywhere else.

The chunin, who I've figured out is more at the rank of officer, himself looks at me and I'm not quite sure what his expression is. It's not hostile, that's for sure. Eyebrows twitching under the badge he has tied around his forehead, he turns to the chalkboard and begins writing.

"Today we're going to be covering the Warring States Period, yes, Kiba?" Master Iruka turns and points with his chalk, having already written several things on the board. My focus is already on what is there and I pull out my school notebook and quickly shorthand what's there. My mind already falling back to my Earth's Sengoku Jidai and the Chinese Warring States Period

"That's the time before the creation of the Villages, right?" The gruff voice of Kiba Inuzuka calls out from the back. The Chunin nods and smiles, no doubt proud that there is education going on beyond the school. "Correct. This was before the Ninja system was established and, as you said, before the Villages."

There is a very pleased grunt from Kiba before the lesson continues. Every faction of my focus is split between the history of Konoha and the history of my world. It's frighteningly easy to do so. It's so easy that the parallels between them, could've been ripped from a history book. As there are hands raised and questions answered, I feel my heart tap dancing in my chest. Damn it, this world's mocking me now. How in the hell is this possible? I could forgive the blatant Japanese styling of this place but now it's history with plagiarization avoiding edits is being swung in front of my face.

Clans warring with each other, a literal eastern wild west, replace ninja with samurai and you get a picture that's about as predictable as the sun rising.

Uh, maybe that's the wrong term to use. I take a deep breath to calm down and only then feel a tickle down my cheek. I wipe my hand at it and feel not only the sweat but feel the very slight vibration of my fingers against my skin. I quickly set my hand down to hide it and continue to compare and contrast everything being said.

Starting from the bare bones facts of just how crazy that time period was, Master Iurka flows from one point to the next, about the money that was thrown around, about the clans that were wiped out completely, and even a few facts about the clans the currently make up the other Villages hidden in the [Add thing here].

Then something hits me. It is small missing piece, of course but the realization filling my mind is so insistent that the single question comes pouring from my lips before I can stop it.

The class stills, the words that have just left my mouth sink into the silence like a knife through butter. I feel every single one of my classmates look at me and it's a effort not to stand and go 'What?'. All of my attention is on Master Iruka who is looking at me in suppressed surprise, arm frozen in mid stroke of the chalk.

After the moment passes, he clears his throat. "I'm sorry?"

"Did any of the clans take slaves?" I ask again.

"Slavery is illegal in Konoha." A voice from the back, one of the other students. I don't know who and don't care. Though I do feel the need to explain my reasoning, I take a deep breath and speak.

"We're talking about the warring states period in which loyalties shifted as quickly as money exchanged hands, before Konoha. No doubt that a lot of civilians were caught up in the middle of these battles with jutsu being thrown around left and right. Small towns and villages that probably couldn't afford their own ninja protection could make easy targets."

"But it's dishonorable." Same voice behind me. This time I look to it. A girl with blonde hair in a ponytail, Ino if I am correct, is sitting a row back. She giving me a look from her high spot like she's got check _and_ mate. A childish belief supported by childish ideas. Ideas that are about to be corrected. I nail her in place with my eyes and take a little satisfaction when she flinches.

"So is stealing, but there are thieves who were once ninja. Lying is dishonorable but there is no doubt every clan had liers in their ranks. At least one." I pause just long enough to let that sink in and judging from the way her face sinks slightly, it does. "Ninja are a military power by necessity. Unless it's their own weapons and armor, which they had to get the metal somewhere, anything beyond exclusively combat is unimportant during wartime." My words suck even the white noise of silence out of the room. The pauses between sentences could've been called 'anti-noise' for how quiet it was. "Never forget that we are talking about war unlike anything experienced before or since. Constant and almost never ending, where clans followed whoever paid them more and whoever even had a slight ability to fight were forced to do so. No matter what morals one has, or how concrete the code they follow, things get very flexible when you're willing to do anything to defeat your enemy." I mean, Master Iruka just said that no one could say their family name to a stranger, just in case said stranger pulled out a knife.

After all civilians were and still are producers, even back home. They grew the food, made the weapons, kept whatever war effort that was going...well, going and if what Master Iruka was saying was true, then every chakra capable person even children were forced to fight. I turn back to address the teacher,who looks not only caught on the back foot but unsettled and...is that concern I'm seeing? "So who in these clans were making the weapons, the armor, the food they ate, the homes they were living in? Surely not the able bodied nin."

Iruka nods, scar across his nose twitching and composes himself, the attention of the class turning to him. I'm sure some of them were expecting (hoping?) my observation to be shot down. "Very observant of you, Sugi. Yes, there was forced labor during that period." Ah, add a bit of sugar to it. Can't have the next generation be even slightly soured by the history of the state. "Every able bodied ninja was in combat and very few clans were directly attached to villages and as a result several were raided by bandits."

That wasn't the question I asked, but it was clear in his roundabout answer that I was right. He's quick to move on, ending the lesson with mentioning that the ninja system and the established villages are for the citizens as much as the ninja who protect it. I think it is in an effort to rewind to mood before I opened my mouth but that mood hasn't just left the room, it took a hard jump off the springboard, flew right out the window, and made a perfect landing two-stories down.

Even the German Judge was begrudgingly giving it a 9.5.

The next subject is a review of the Clone Jutsu technique. We line up in the front of the class, which has plenty of space for things like demonstrations. I'm about third in line, right behind Ino, who gives me a sour look before focusing on our resident prodigy, Sasuke Uchiha. Now far be it from me to judge but this kid isn't all there. I'm vaguely aware of the reason because a lot of adults in this school think that a child isn't capable of paying real good attention when they talk, something to do with his family being murdered.

That would mess anyone up but I think this kid has been run over by that train and hasn't gotten the help he needs. His eyes are intense and always uncaring and slightly angry, like he's ready to haul off and beat someone but only if he feels like it. That look gets under my skin. I guess there is no need for therapy if he performs well, which the boy does. He brings his hands together, there is a literal poof of smoke and his twin appears right next to him.

Master Iruka nods his head, writes something on his clipboard and nods to the next in line. Ino makes her singing a little more flamboyant than necessary, her fingers flipping through the motions with a little extra peppering of jazz hands for flavor. This is clearly in order to impress a viewer who's not only at back down but, as I can see out the corner of my eye, is looking to the window.

As a result, when the smoke clears her clone looks...passible. At a glance there is barely a difference but when one has the original to compare with it is actually disappointing. The ponytail is too long, the eyes are slightly crossed, oh... and the half-skirt thing is embarrassingly short. Like stripper short.

I can only shake my head as Ino quickly dispels the clone, looking even more like she bit on a lemon.

Now it's my turn. As I put my hands together in the first sign, I feel the energy inside my jump to attention, like a loyal puppy. All excitable and making my very skin tingle as I mold it. It flows through every nerve, every synapse, making my brain feel both feel comfortably warm and cool at the same time. Sinking into it like a comfortable mattress, I sign and keep the movements of my fingers economical and precise. My LeviOsa to Ino's LeviosA. Hell, now that I think about it, it this what using magic would've felt like?

I feel my chakra stretch out and I focus it into me then with a poof and a physical release of tension, I look to my left and see myself looking back at me.

"Good job, Sugi." I look into his open proud face and I can only just hold back a scowl. I hate the fact this place gives me so little to hate. Because if I don't hate it then I become apathetic, or worse, accepting of something that I know in my soul is unacceptable. Because when the other shoe drops, I don't want to be taken by surprise. Even though I despise the goals, the methods are pretty much rainbows and unicorns. I want to run up to him yank him to my level by the collar and scream in his face to be nastier. Be something to hate. Be less... grade school and more African warlord.

Instead, my clone and I bow in perfect unison. "Thank you, sir" comes out in stereo and I dispel my clone and take a seat.

The rest of the class is a spectrum like with any other, some doing fairly well and others doing poorly.

Then there is Naruto. His clone is so bleached of color, it's almost white. It's not even standing when the smoke clears, it's lying flopped on its belly like a frog. There is some laughter from the class and a few whispers along the lines of 'Well, what would to expect from him?'

That's another thing about Naruto that confuses me. I could easily imagine Sasuke getting away with the kinds of pranks the blonde pulls because his top position in the class is unquestionable but in Naruto's case...

I can't help but wince as the prankster is pinned in place by the disappointed look of Master Iruka who sighs a long suffering sigh and scribbles on the clipboard in his hands. "Again, Naruto, if you just studied with the same amount of effort that you put in your pranks..." He leaves the rest of the sentence both open and obvious. Naruto for his part, looks like he just wants to disappear along with his clone as said clone puffs away in a whisp of smoke.

I lean back in my desk and the teacher looks at the clock.

Five minutes to twelve. "Alright everyone. Lunch is in five minutes, be back in sixty. Mizuki will be handling your physical class today so meet up in the quad. " Tapping his papers on the podium and leaving the room, he gives me one last quick glance that's far too fast to make out whether it's friendly or not.

The class begins buzzing with activity before Master Iruka even shuts the door behind him. I pull my lunch out of my suitcase, leftovers from breakfast, and am just about to take a bite of a biscuit when I see a figure of orange making it's way to me.

All Naruto does is give me a dough-eyed, almost kicked puppy look that I KNOW he had to practice in the mirror because damn it, it's adorable, with a lone cup ramen in his hand. We exchange a small war of glances in which all of my moves are countered by a single unchanging pleading glance.

"Fine." I sigh and scooch over giving him some elbow room.

"Yes!" He pumps a fist like he just hit the winning homerun, the happiness on his face is so warm that I decide not to ask why he wants to sit with me all of a sudden.

Lunch with Naruto passes like any other and I learn several things about him. One: he loves ramen. No way anyone could eat like that and hate what they're tasting.

Two: He talks a lot. Forget about no filter, there is no off switch. I couldn't even get a word in edgewise. Everything from some new prank he's planning to the adventures he plans to have once he's graduated. That's another thing about this place. The attitude about Military service. Sure it's presented as patriotic and you're serving your village yet pretty much everyone in class, save a few, all talk about being heros. 'Yeah, we're going to have fun around campfires and stuff' without thinking that we're going to have to kill. No way is the state going to go through the trouble of training us and we're not going to have to take a life at least once. I can see it on his face that he's never once considered it, that or it has been considered and he's excited for it which is another bag of worms altogether. Hell, it doesn't seem like any country here has had a World War One or Vietnam that has soured the current and next generation on the concept.

By the time he's gotten to whispering about the pranks he's planning, it's almost time for Class to start again.

Finally, and I only caught it from the way he speaks, he's an orphan like me. Some of the things he tells me that he does at home no self-respecting parent would allow in their house in a million lifetimes. Like the fact he eats out all the time in the same place. Or the fact he's surviving on only Ramen. Cup. Fresh. Frozen. With and without meat. And Delivered sometimes. And the occasional carton of milk. With the amount of salt and carbs he's consuming daily, somehow he's not dying of Hypertenlestroliteies. (That's Hypertension, cholesterol, and diabetes, to those who don't know.) Just thinking about it is enough to turn my stomach.

"Okay, no." I say, pushing what little remains of his cup ramen away from him. The choked insulted gasp he gives me is replaced by a look of confusion as I push the other half of my lunch in front of him. It's not much healthier but fuck, this kid actually needs to eat like a kid and not a college student. "Eat that."

His mouth falls open and he looks ready to argue, hand going for he practically empty cup. I give him my 'Try me, son' glare that I've used on my own kids and I am satisfied when it works. Giving my lunch a wary prod with his chopsticks and once confirming that it wasn't going to jump out at him or dissolve his chopsticks he nibbles at the sausage hash first, brightens up, and then sets to scarfing it down like he hadn't just eaten. "Suf gooth!" He squeaks out through stuffed cheeks. "Yuf merd thiith?"

"Don't take with your mouth full, Uzumaki." Damn this kid really does need some help if he hasn't even learned that rule.

He swallows and gives me a grin. "This is great. You made this?"

I smile a little as well. "Yeah. This morning."

I nod. "Cook at the orphan..." The realization comes to me as I watch Naruto go back to eating. Pearl Orphanage wasn't the only one in the Village but Matron Imai keeps contact with all of them, having us socialize with other children. I'm only now just realizing what Naruto said about all the ramen he eats. Sometimes he get's the food delivered which means...

"Hey, Naruto." I begin, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible. "You got somewhere to live?"

He looks at me, confused like I just said ice is cold. Admittedly, that was a dumb way to ask. "Yeah, an apartment."

That leaves me dumbfounded.

How does a kid exactly my age have an apartment by now? No, how does he have one and is he's taking care of himself and has money to spend on eating out? I don't even have a bank account yet. Is he an independent minor? If that's the case then- A heavy smacking noise comes from Naruto as he takes nearly a whole biscuit in one bite. Correction, if he is a independent minor then who ever signed that paperwork needs to have their heads examined. Which means he's getting help but from who?

Yet before I can ask anything else, I feel something, a sense that something rather large is coming at me very fast. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been thinking so hard. I spin around in my seat and catch the object aimed right at my head. At first what looks like a paper ball is revealed to be more when my plam stings as I snatch it out the air.

I follow the path of the throw to a girl with white-almost silver hair, someone who's name is on the tip of my tongue, who's giving me the evilest of eyes from the very back of the class. And I have no idea why. Her outfit is actually one of the few that look sensible, the closest to the teachers at the school. A jumpsuit and jacket.

"HEY!" Naruto shouts, so suddenly that several people, including myself jump. "What's the big idea?!"

The girl's frosty glare turns fiery when she looks at him but says nothing. I unwrap the ball and rather large stone drops onto my desk with a loud clatter. Large enough to hurt like a bitch but not enough to injure when buffered with said paper. I can feel the blonde stiffen next to me and some of the class quiet a little some take notice.

I stand, pick the rock up, test the weight, and toss it into a trash bin by the door. "Don't bother, Uzumaki." I say, not too quietly, tapping him to sit down. He's giving me that face again. "Don't bother. She's not worth it." I say, looking directly at her so she and the whole class knows who I'm talking to. She scoffs in a way that tells me I just got under her skin.

Naruto doesn't seem convinced, looking from her to me a few times, fists clenching and unclenching as if fighting between staying where he was and clearing the desks and giving her a mouthful of a knucklesandwich. It takes another glare from me to make him sit down before he did something stupid and dig himself a hole in which he couldn't get out of.

Still lunch was over and as we made our way down to the quad Naruto didn't really stop looking over his shoulder behind us just in case that girl had other stones in reserve and at any moment will pop from around the corner mid-throw.

She doesn't but I mark her as someone to watch out for later.

Master Mizuki is already there in the quad along with some of the class who'd run to get here, setting up targets down along where the wall meets the trees. I should mention I don't like the man, the other students and even other teachers seem to like him but I've never liked teachers who try to be 'in' with the class. There are teachers who are great teachers and get along great. Mizuki is one of those teachers who tries to be friends so hard its actually painful. In my experience teacher's should do their job first then be the cool guy.

It's not long before everyone else joins up and he starts class."Alright everyone, line up. Targets down range and don't worry about messing up. I'll be with you every step of the way." Oh gag me. "Let's get started. Remember this target represents an enemy at the average throwing distance."

There are four targets, four lines at four yards. I'm in the third line. Right behind a girl with back short hair, uh, Hyuga-something with another H. Homura? No. Himea? Hina? I don't know, I just label her as the Hyuga girl with the blind eyes who's not blind. She looks very...No, even _more_ nervous, constantly fiddling with her hands as we wait for the ones in front to throw their three kunai and be graded with Mizuki encouraging every step of the way, trying and failing not to look over to Naruto who is standing in the next line. On one of her glances, she turns just enough and I'm pretty sure I enter her line of sight because she stiffens, faces forward and doesn't look around anymore.

I don't know why I get that reaction. If there was one person I've never spoken to it's her. Mostly because she avoids me like the plague. We sit on different sides of the classroom. I guess she didn't notice I was right behind her since she was staring at Naruto like the rest of the girls look at Sasuke. Speaking of, the classes wunderkind himself is stepping up to the plate. With three flicks of his arm three kunai sink into the center dot of the target followed by a resounding set of cheers from the rest of the girls in class. With a 'hmph' that could only come from a 'cool' kid right out of a 90s children's movie, he flicks his head away from them and strolls over to where the others who've taken their turn are. I don't blame him, the 'kya'-ing of these hormonal girls is about as irritating as one could expect.

"Good job, Sasuke. Excellent form." Master Mizuki says, scribbling something down on his clipboard. "Next."

The front of the line moves. The girl who'd been making eyes at Naruto throws three decent shots that are nowhere even closely as grouped together as Sasuke. A kid with a ponytail in Naruto's line does better but has room for improvement.

As the girl stands aside, I take my place in front of the target. Muscle memory takes over as I draw three kunai, like a Clint Eastwood in one of his westerns, and throw them at the same time. In all honesty, it took longer to think about it than to do it.

THUNKTHUNKTHUNK.

Each one misses the bullseye but is closely grouped together on the right side. "Good form Sugi, but it's best if you take time to aim. Speed isn't everything." I want to turn to the white haired so called teacher and tell him that such a dumbass suggestion of taking time to aim a thrown weapon would be suicide in an actual combat situation. Especially, considering the target is supposed to be an enemy ninja. Any soldier worth their training would never be this far away and not also be trying to kill us, he should damn well know that. I however, do not say that because I've already stirred the drink with Master Iruka. I bite my tongue and bow in respect. "Understood, Master Mizuki. I will be more on point in the future."

He hesitates, looking slightly nervous before writing something down as I move out of line and stand with the other students. Naruto's grouping was the worst of everyone in class, one of the kunai just barely scraping the side of the wooden target before bouncing off into the grass. I can't help but notice that Master Mizuki doesn't give Naruto any encouragement or pointers.

Once the last few kids make their throws, it's time for sparring matches, the first in my eight months here. A set of blunted wooden training weapons are set against the wall in the quad, the 'armory' ranging from kunai to staffs to katanas and everything in between. I pick up the usual I use for katas, the weapon that looks closest to the Chinese Jian, a straight sword with slants in both sides of the 'blade' representing a double edge that can be handled with one hand. I give it a swing to measure its reach before I twirl it, momentarily giving in to all my childhood Star Wars fantasies as I have a bit of fun.

I give it another twirl around my wrist, the operatic note of Duel of Fates rising in my ears as I move to a more open space. Goddamn, if I didn't already have all the movies already in my head, I'd have loved to watch them here. I think that's why I chose a sword, if I was going to be a ninja, I might as well be a jedi-ish ninja. I doubt I'd have have trouble fitting in with those movies.

, I'm pulled out of my thoughts as Master Mizuki takes his place by the sparring ring and raises a hand for silence.

"Alright class, I will be pairing you together. A time limit of 60 seconds, unless a ring out, surrender or I call the result." He calls out, getting everyone's attention. "No jutsu is allowed. Just hand to hand, understood?"

"Understood." The class calls back in various tones.

With a friendly nod, he looks down at his clipboard. "Uchiha Sasuke..." He doesn't even get to the 'and' before the females of the class start their cheering, minus myself of course. I personally don't want to get even tangentially involved with that level of brooding. Not that he doesn't have a damn good reason.

If there is anyone with a 747's worth of baggage it would be Sasuke. I feel for the guy, no question but he needs help. From a guardian or a friend or something since, again, I don't think this guy is getting therapy.

"...and Sugi Makashi." Of fucking course. Lord, give me strength.

Our class prodigy looks about as enthusiastic as I feel about this selection but doesn't seem to want to object. The looks he's giving me are extra dismissive. Again, no one here should be judging what I'm wearing. How much hair gel is this kid using? Looks like a damn bird and seriously, what are those things on his arms?

We take our spots across from each other, I can't help but notice the two 'kunai' he's twirling one each finger. About three slow spins, then stop. The air hums with the sound of several voices murmuring. Probably taking bets. No need for that, my fights all end the same way. I take the standard sword guard. I have the advantage in reach but he has versatility.

Master Mizuki nods at both of us, then raises his arm. "Ready?"

Two spins.

"Begin!"


End file.
